The sound of Dominic Vale’s cane striking the marble floor carried through the great room like a gunshot.

In the west guest suite, Arthur Voss stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. In his hand, he held a sleek, silenced Walther PPK, its black barrel gleaming ominously in the moonlight.

"Clare, Clare, Clare," Arthur sighed, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "You were supposed to stay upstairs, fold your towels, and keep your sweet little daughter quiet. Why do maids always feel the need to read other people's mail?"

Clare pressed her back against the mahogany desk, clutching the heavy leather folio to her chest like a shield. "Please... I didn't see anything. I won't tell anyone. Let me go back to Ellie."

Arthur chuckled softly, raising the weapon. "I’m afraid curiosity is a fatal flaw in this household. And unfortunately for you, you’ve just inherited far too much knowledge."

He raised the pistol, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Bang!

The heavy oak door exploded inward in a shower of splinters.

Arthur’s shot went wide, burying itself harmlessly into the plaster ceiling as Dominic Vale stepped through the wreckage, his dark eyes locked entirely on the older man.

"Put the gun down, Arthur," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

Arthur spun around, frantically trying to re-aim the weapon, but Dominic was already moving. With a burst of explosive speed that defied his recent injury, Dominic closed the distance, slamming his palm upward against Arthur’s wrist. The pistol flew from the consigliere's hand, clattering across the hardwood floor.

Before Arthur could recover, Dominic grabbed him by the lapels of his tailored suit, lifted him off his feet with brutal strength, and slammed him against the glass window overlooking the storm-tossed lake.

"You tried to kill me on Lower Wacker," Dominic hissed, his face inches from Arthur’s wide, terrified eyes. "You crippled my leg. You tried to steal everything my father built. And now you threaten a mother and her child in my home."

Arthur gasped for breath, his hands clawing weakly at Dominic’s wrists. "Dominic... wait... we're family... we can share—"

"Family doesn't put shrapnel in a man's brakes," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Family doesn't torture a man by inches."

He threw Arthur to the floor, where the older man curled into a fetal position, coughing and gasping for air. Clare stood frozen against the desk, clutching the folio, tears streaming down her face.

Dominic turned to her, his expression softening instantly as he extended a hand. "Are you alright?"